Mountain Sage and Desert Tiger
by CrossoverQueen
Summary: It's all there. You just need to look harder.
1. like soldiers falling down

**Note: **I don't own Fire Emblem: Sacred Stones nor the song "Ever the Same" by Rob Thomas.

Every time I listen to Rob Thomas' "Ever the Same," I always think about Saleh and Gerik. They have an interesting history, the two of them, and it gives me a greater insight into Saleh's character. This is not a songfic, per se, but I do think the lyrics make good chapter titles.

And the only possible reason I've rated this T is because younger readers might not fully understand my message.

_-like soldiers falling down_-

"Saleh," Gerik says decisively. "Zabba's dead. It won't do you any good if you keep yourself hung up over killing him." It isn't the first time he's said something like this. For some reason, Saleh keeps trying to apologize for what happened seven years ago; it makes him wonder why he clings to that memory, and insists on trying to apologize, when it would really be easier to just let everything go.

In spite of himself, Gerik hears a voice--his own voice--slip unbidden into his thoughts.

_I'm tired of trying to forget_.

"Yes... But..." Saleh's eyes catch the light in a strange way--it looks almost like he's about to cry.

This must be a bizarre picture the two of them make. Saleh, calm, unflappable Saleh, looks and feels considerably more upset than Gerik. _Gerik's_ the one who lost his friend; if anything, Gerik should be the one about to break down. Not the one who killed his best friend. Not the sage of Caer Pelyn.

Not Saleh.

But even as Gerik thinks this, he sees that the serenity is gone and the mask is slipping and no matter how much Gerik tries to make him, Saleh will not be able to forget killing the Desert Tiger's best friend.

It's not in Saleh to forget.

It catches Gerik off guard when Saleh reaches over and hugs him--a rigid, desperate grip that makes Gerik feel like he's the only person keeping Saleh alive, keeping him sane enough to know that he's going to lose it because nobody else _knows_.

It makes him wonder how long Saleh's had to cope with his guilt.

"Gerik..." his voice is so much quieter than usual that Gerik almost doesn't catch what he says. "I'm..."

The sage tightens his grip; Gerik's a little surprised at the sage's sudden display of strength. There's no outward sign of Saleh's emotions; no shaking, no tears, no hitching breaths, no stammer.

But there is so much misery in his voice.

And Gerik responds with his own embrace. "Don't say it, Saleh."

Saleh doesn't need forgiveness from Gerik. He's had it for seven years--seven years before either of them got caught up in this war for the continent and the final defeat of the Demon King and another triumph of good over evil.

And with everything that's happened through the years, all his misery and guilt breaking out of his control as he holds onto Gerik like he's the last source of hope, Saleh does not cry.

It's not like Saleh to break down on on the outside.

But it's tearing him to shreds on the inside.

And, in a comically tragic sort of way, Saleh doesn't know that the only person he should ask forgiveness from, has yet to get forgiveness from, is himself.


	2. drawn from the weeds

-_drawn from the weeds_-

After looking for a few minutes, Gerik finds the particular sage he's looking for. Surprisingly--or not-so-surprisingly--he's in the branches of a rather well-known tree.

People have been coming here for around two weeks, usually at evening or morning but sometimes at a different time of the day. He's seen Eirika, Natasha, Ewan of course, and Myrrh; even L'Arachel and Lute have come here on occasion, just to sit under this exact tree. It took him a while to realize that they weren't just sitting in the shade.

They come here, unwittingly it seems, because of Saleh. Whether or not they know he's there, that's their business. But he wouldn't be surprised if they didn't--Saleh's cape, his boots, even his hair blends in with the branches and leaves. Forde mentioned once that Saleh's quote-unquote "energy" was like a beacon of calm. But now that he's here, he realizes why the cavalier says that.

There is a profound feeling of peace surrounding this tree. Unlike what L'Arachel says, it doesn't make him feel all that carefree--Saleh's too serious for that anyway. But it definitely makes him feel something.

He wonders, for a moment, just why Saleh finds sitting in a tree so appealing. He heard Ewan talking to him once about always having to find a quiet place for Valega; it must be why there's such a feeling (aura, more like) surrounding this spot. Is it simply because it's quieter up there, that Saleh would go through the trouble of scaling a tree that he probably won't see again once he's back in Caer Pelyn? Is it because he lives in the mountains, rather than the level ground everyone else lives on?

But then he looks closer at the sage--at his closed eyes, his calm, detached expression--and shakes his head. It's not out of convenience or familiarity that Saleh goes up there, so much higher than anyone else.

He goes there because nobody else does. Because they can't find a way up, or they're too afraid to look, or they don't know they can even get there in the first place.

He's the only one who wants to.

Eventually Gerik realizes that he's sitting with his back against the tree, right below the branch Saleh's sitting on. He looks up again, needing a moment to distinguish Saleh from the leaves, and speaks for the first time since coming here.

"Saleh?"

No answer--is he asleep? He doesn't seem to have moved for a while, but maybe he's too caught up in meditating.

"Saleh..." he stops for a moment, then continues. "You can say it if you want to."

Saleh opens his eyes. He looks down at the mercenary, with a thoughtful sort of look that leaves Gerik in the dark as to what he might be feeling.

But he doesn't say anything.****

-  
Note: This chapter turned out okay, but I personally think it seems vague. Am I trying to use too much subtlety? Is Gerik reflecting too much?


	3. someone broken

_-someone broken-_

No doubt about it, Saleh is a teacher.

Even with his insistence that Ewan should stop coming to him and find a more suitable one.

Gerik knows him better than that of course. No matter how much Saleh keeps saying he's too busy, he never really follows up on whatever he says he'll do or won't do or thinks. Like when he says that taking a student is impractical because he might not come back from fighting bandits one day ("And then where would you learn magic, Ewan?").

And that Ewan should find another teacher because Saleh's always busy with his own duties in Caer Pelyn, and it's hard enough trying to hold his own without worrying about someone else.

But Saleh always comes back no matter how many times he said he won't, and to be honest Gerik doesn't think anyone would want to be taught by someone like Lute. Not to mention that even with Ewan's progress, he worries about the redhead like a father would.

Like Ewan's own father didn't.

So now Gerik's watching Saleh teach Ewan how to use staves. They haven't made much progress; Ewan does glow the usual benevolent pale blue when he concentrates on the Heal staff, but otherwise nothing's happened and it's clear that he's getting frustrated.

Saleh looks at Ewan for a moment, then speaks. "Hmm. Ewan--what are you feeling when you try to use the staff?"

"Huh?"

"Your emotions. What do you feel when you're concentrating?"

"I just did what you said, Teacher. Just focus on my magic and see it going to the other person."

"Ah. That's why you're having trouble," Saleh tells him. "Ewan, have you ever wondered why healers never fight?"

"Well Natasha and Moulder are nice, but L'Arachel's just snobby."

The sage nearly laughs at that, but continues. "Healing isn't quite like ordinary magic--instead of just focusing, you must feel your magic healing the person, and basically... you want the person to get well. That is why clerics and priests don't use weapons--their emotions are tied to their magic. ...Does that make sense?"

"Sort of, Teacher."

Saleh pauses again, but then reaches into a fold of his robes and takes out the small knife he uses for cutting herbs. Then, amidst Ewan's yelp of confusion and worry, he cuts himself.

"Teacher, why'd you do that?"

"It's not a large cut, Ewan," Saleh tells him. "Look, it's not even bleeding anymore."

"But--"

"This isn't the time to be squeamish, Ewan." He holds out his arm. "Now, if you want me to get better, use the staff and visualize the cut healing."

Considering that Saleh's just cut himself with a very sharp knife, he's being very calm about it. But who would expect anything else?

"Um... okay, Teacher." Still taken aback by his teacher's act of minor self-mutilation, Ewan holds up the staff and concentrates. "I'm not squeamish..." Gerik hears him mutter.

The cut doesn't heal quite as Gerik expects it to, but he reminds himself that this is Ewan who's just learning how to use a staff. It closes up, but slowly and unevenly, like someone making clumsy stitches in a torn cloth.

After a few minutes, Saleh's arm is back to normal without so much as a scar. He rubs the newly healed spot on his arm a moment, then speaks again.

"That was a good start, Ewan. It was only a cut, but you know the concept well enough. Obviously we can't do that every time I give you lessons, but you'll have time to improve after combat."

After Ewan leaves to meet up with either Ross or Amelia, Gerik comes up to the sage; he hasn't really moved aside from putting the staff away.

"Hey, Saleh?"

"Hmm?"

"Is it _that_ hard for you to show pain? You really freaked Ewan out when you cut yourself like that." Gerik pauses, then adds, "And you scared me, too."

Does Saleh really have that much control? he wonders. Would he have that control as he was dying--a stab, a bolt of lightning, consumed by dark magic he finally can't dodge? Would he have that same unmoved expression till his last breath?

"I've had worse. When I was in--"

"Yeah,I know about Caer Pelyn, Saleh. You fight monsters, dead things, and creatures that could kill you in five ways that would make the others cringe--"

"That's not what I mean."

"So what _do_ you mean?"

Wordlessly, as he always does, Saleh stands up and gives another look at his arm, as if he's giving at closer look to something in his hand. Then he takes off his woven bracelets, including the beaded one that marks his status as a sage, and holds out both his arms.

And in broken sunlight that filters through the leaves, Gerik sees the faded red scars on his wrists.


	4. in the wind

_-in the wind-_

When Caellach kills Ismaire and Joshua is handed down the Sacred Twins of Jehanna, neither he nor the others mind when Saleh steps up to claim Excalibur. 

He's a sage, after all--it's almost expected that he'd be able to use a sacred tome almost right away.

And he's Saleh.

The rumors about him have been mostly disproven by now; he cannot control the mountains like a trained dog, it was the traveler's fault she didn't ask him the quickest way out. He can't use any weapon at all, especially not the likes of Gleipnir or Nidhogg; while he does know basic self-defense and he was proficient in bows before he started his training as the sage of Caer Pelyn (rather late, somewhere around fourteen), he has no use for weapons anymore.

And he can't speak to animals--nor does he summon them to attack people. He has no idea who came up with that.

But there is one thing that nobody notices--the errant breeze ruffling his hair in the mountains; the sudden gust that whips sand up to blind his opponents; the light flurry of air that scatters his footprints or muffles his approach.

Most don't notice that the foreboding wind of Excalibur comes from any particular direction, but Saleh always knows where it comes from--the east.

-  
He was the one who finished Valter off, taking over after Ephraim got stabbed and Eirika had to keep the last of the enemy soldiers at bay until Ephraim's elixir finished its work.

The green book sat in his hand like a promise, so he decided to use it instead of his Thunder tome; he might as well turn Valter's poor resistance to magic against him.

It started like a breeze, gaining momentum as Saleh concentrated and turning to vicious green blades that slashed the wyvern's wings to ribbons and cut through the knight's armor.

Valter fell from the sky in moments, still raging for blood and forcing his wyvern's path to Saleh for one last kill before his own death.

"I will not be _butchered_ by some recluse from the mountains," he snarled over the wind blades, raising his spear and aiming it at Saleh's chest. "I am the Moonstone!"

Another wind blade silenced whatever he had to say next. 

There would be no more of him now--the Moonstone had been killed by Excalibur.

-_  
_

_Saleh's parents died in a bandit raid when he was thirteen; his father was killed and his mother gave up after a week of fighting a poisoned wound._

_"I want my body burned," Lehina said to him. "I don't mind what you do after."_

_There was no wind on the day they burned her body._

_So Saleh decided after the pyre burned down and her ashes were collected. He climbed to where the air was thin and cold, and he stood and waited for something._

_By noon he was shivering so hard he could barely hold the ashes, but finally it came--a soft, lilting current._

_With shallow breaths and eyes misted from cold, Saleh opened his unsteady hands and scattered her ashes into the eastern wind._

-  
"Saleh?" Gerik asks him once they're on the road back to Renais. "What happened in Jehanna?" 

"I used Excalibur," he answers. "Valter wasn't weak enough for any other magic; I decided not to risk it."

"There's never a real wind in Jehanna. When you used Excalibur, it came from behind you."

"The _wind_ blades, Gerik. No one minds when I use Thunder on a sunny day."

"I couldn't reach you. I tried to tell you when we finished off Caellach, but--I got cut, too."

Saleh looks at Gerik, and there is a shallow gash on his left shoulder--razor-thin and too straight to be a sword cut.

"If you use Excalibur again and something goes wrong, we won't be able to help you."

"...This is a problem."


	5. but i can only give

_-but i can only give-_

"...This is it," Gerik says, out of the blue and to no one in particular.

"What's 'it,' Gerik?" Innes asks.

"The Demon King. We've all got our sacred weapons--all we have to do is get across the room and then fight him."  
_  
__Weapons don't make everything_, is what he doesn't say. They've all been training for this, to the point where Amelia is used to fighting on horseback and on foot, where Ewan can wield light magic and staves as well as anima, where Ross can kill a run-of-the-mill gargoyle in two blows (one if he's lucky), and where Gerik has taken up axes.

A silver one gleams in his hand.

And they start.

-  
This battle is harder than it looks. Sure, the monsters aren't exactly bounty hunters--even the dragon zombies are surprisingly slow once you get over that fearful sort of jolt in your stomach--but they're _everywhere_, and the unit's getting worn out.

And even if _they're_ fine, their weapons aren't because there's only so many times you can hit things before something breaks.

The second dragon zombie is Gerik's last victim before the silver axe reaches its limit, so he throws the splintered shaft away and gets a tomahawk out. A wight advances on him, fleshless bones clicking like beads as it raises its lance to strike.

He dodges the first blow, but a gorgon's stare catches his eye even as he smashes the wight's skull.

So he stops and tries to look away (_they can't do anything if you don't look back_) but already there's dark magic seeping into his skin and muscle and bone--

And thunder comes from the temple's clear stone sky. The gorgon shrieks as it dies, burning in one single absolute strike._  
__  
Saleh_.

-  
"I was lucky," Saleh tells him after coming over from... where? "Bolting is hard to pinpoint."

It sounds like what it is: bulky, and unwieldy like regret.

"Thanks, Saleh."

-  
After the first spectacular hit, Saleh uses a normal thunder tome and Gerik notices something.

Is his hair lighter than normal? He doesn't know how it's possible, being in an old stone temple with average to dim light; but there they are, bits of light weaving in and out through Saleh's cloud-grey hair like fireflies.

He looks like the storm god.

"Y'know Saleh, there's sparks in your hair from all the thunder."

A stifled noise; was that a laugh?

"No one's... bothered to tell me before."

He reaches out to ruffle Saleh's hair; would that shake the sparks out?  
_  
Strike._

"_Ow_--!" White heat bursts up his arm and something jolts in his chest, and if it weren't for his fair magic resistance he'd probably have fried like a pine in the desert.

"Gerik?" Saleh asks, and he is not a storm god anymore.

"I'm fine--just got shocked." He looks at his hand and sees a blistered, reddened palm. "It stings a little, but it's too small to waste my elixir on."

But Saleh looks at him, and it's _that_ look so Gerik waits.

Saleh doesn't get his staff ready, though. Just reaches out with two fingers and heals him, like the healers do when someone gets a scrape or dislocates something.

These are the things that the people don't see.

-  
**Note: **The sparks bit was from Tamora Pierce's Circle of Magic. One of the characters, Tris, is a weather-witch and she can literally throw lightning around like spears. I found it interesting that sparks gathered in her hair after a while, and it tended to scare people, so I lightened it a bit for Saleh and Gerik.


	6. holding to me

_-holding to me-_

They've been walking in the desert for about a week.

Saleh doesn't like it much; there is too much sand and too little wind. He's never been in Jehanna before, and he hopes he'll never go this far into the desert again.

"Try not to wander too far," Seth advises the unit (not that they could disobey even if they wanted). "We won't be able to track you down if you get lost."

-

Saleh marks the camp's location in his head--there are a few shrubs and they are close to a sand dune--and walks a short distance to meditate.

It is annoyingly hard to walk a short distance in sand. But after several minutes, with the camp at his back so he knows where to return, he stops near a surprisingly green tree (an acacia?) and sits down.

-

The heat may have spurred him to focus more quickly, or he's just fallen asleep--but either way it has gotten dark.

And there is something pulling at his limbs, so he feels like he is submerged in a lake. It is decidedly not like sand, as there is no stubborn sinking that makes him want to pull his legs out from wherever they got stuck. But he can breathe...

Saleh isn't sure if he likes it better than the desert, because there is no one here.

There is a string in his hand, and the pressure of someone holding the other end, so he follows it--through dark water and fish-like movements and a presence lurking behind him. Or beside him; he cannot tell much of anything here.

But he keeps going because there is someone else at the other end, and he would rather not stay with the presence. He gives up on coiling the string neatly, wrapping it around his wrist once in a while, and continues walking.

And walking.

Yet the pressure never ceases.

_I'm still here,_ says the person. _Hurry up!_

Now they are close enough that the string can be tugged impatiently if he slows down too much, but there is still a long way to go if he wants to see anything.

_We can't both wait, you know._

He is coming to the end of the string. And there, past the swimming fish and glowing string, is someone at the edge of his vision.

_You're getting closer,_ says the person, with the tone of voice that sounds like a smile. _But,_ both of them realize, _so is the_--

-  
"--leh? Saleh! Wake up!"

"But wait, I almost--" He grabs at something in a panic, but succeeds only at falling over. "I was about to find them!"

"Find who?" Comes the familiar voice of Moulder. "Whatever you were dreaming about, you're in no shape to find people right now."

"I meant just one..." he looks around; Moulder is sitting next to him, waiting patiently for Saleh to come to his senses.

Gerik stands a slight distance back, in the shade near the acacia's trunk. Compared to the sunlight, the mercenary is in deep shadow; something gleams in his hand (_you are close now_)--but it is only Gerik's sword being put back in its scabbard.

"It's not an ideal condition, Master Saleh, but it's certainly not as bad as heat stroke," the priest informs him. "The most you'll need is water and rest."

Gerik tosses a canteen to him, and they head back to the rest of the unit. Saleh, despite not being sure of his footing, doesn't need help and doesn't ask for it.

"Figures you wouldn't ask for help," Gerik smiles, though the rest is less cheerful. "But we couldn't wait forever, you know."  
-

**Note:** The web-comic that inspired this was the gorgeously-drawn HERO.


	7. and we're scared

At Castle Renais, they fight to defeat Orson and reach the Sacred Stone.

Things have gone much better than the battle to get out of Jehanna; the unit is well-rested for the first time in weeks, their supplies and weapons are replenished, and it is much easier to fight with neither a blinding sun in their eyes nor shifting sand under their feet.

But then an enemy priest--too far to see clearly and too careful to get in striking distance--raises a staff and sends a spell towards Gerik as the mercenary finishes off one of the remnant soldiers. The ominous red mist puts everyone on edge, waiting either mentally or physically to see what happens. Gerik has never been hit with a Berserk spell before, but he isn't the fastest among them either.

Instead of dissipating the mist absorbs into his skin like water into sand, and Saleh checks to make sure the Restore staff is there.

"Everyone fall back!" Seth orders immediately, sweeping the area to make sure everyone is out of Gerik's line of sight. "Master Saleh, do you still have the Restore staff?"

"Yes." He grips it and takes a look at Gerik--his attacks on the enemy have gained a disturbing rage, underlined by the sudden speed and harshness of his sword swings.

Despite what the name implies, Berserk does not turn someone into a mindless killing machine--instead the person is sent into an indiscriminate rage, with the magic fueling their emotions until the spell wears off or they get killed. But the results are the same, and equally devastating.

With Gerik, it's unclear which would have shocked everyone more.

He tries to be inconspicuous once he gets within the mercenary's line of vision; if Gerik saw him, he'd attack before Saleh could even try restoring him. But two soldiers have other ideas, and Saleh kills them as quickly as possible--if nothing else, the noise at least disguises his movement.

But as Gerik runs to kill a few more soldiers in his sight, he spots Saleh and changes course. "_You!_" He charges over, sword raised and aimed at Saleh's neck--and Saleh cannot go anywhere but backwards, trying to keep as much distance between them as possible.

The blade sears past his neck as he dodges. _Disarming him makes decapitation harder,_ he realizes, and aims a fire attack just above Gerik's shoulder.

Gerik dodges contemptuously, but drops the melted sword as it blisters his hand and is too startled to move for a moment. Saleh takes the Restore staff out, but the rage resurfaces and Saleh has to run again.

"You're not getting away that fast, you stupid mage!"

_Get back here! You killed him and I am going to __**slaughter**__ you!_

"I--I didn't--" Saleh scans the area for enemies--that was how he stayed alive last time.

But they have all fallen back and Saleh doesn't run fast enough and suddenly he's held by his throat in a crushing grip.

"Ger…" He struggles in vain to break loose. Wrong, this is all _wrong_, where's the bandit trying to attack?

_He can't breathe--_

L'Arachel brings her staff down on Gerik's skull. He crumples, stunned but not quite unconscious as the sage in turn falls back down to earth. Saleh can only breathe raggedly in the first few moments of his release, terrified and unfocused as he struggles to stay in control.

"Master Saleh, are you all right?" She asks, signaling her horse to kneel as she hauls the mercenary onto the back of her saddle. "Master Saleh? Oh dear, you must have had quite a--"

He shoves himself up and runs.

He cannot answer anyone's startled questions or let them come too close, because if they do he's going to lose control and he's already killed one person by accident and everybody is _too close_--please don't get too close, I have no control and I don't want to kill anyone else and I can't _focus_, I can't--

"I can't--" he stumbles into silence as his panicky speech loses speed, chin locked to his collarbone and shrinking into his cape while something hot runs down his face. "I-I can't…"

He can't _breathe_.

-

Gerik wakes up in his tent, drained and vaguely unsettled; the kind of feelings people get after losing their temper and getting themselves exhausted. And his head feels like it got run over by a maelduin.

Someone's shadow is near the tent entrance--standing guard?

"What happened?" he croaks out to Seth as he lurches out, the sudden burst of light drowning out most of the colors and making his head feel worse until his eyes adjust.

"You got hit with Berserk in the most recent battle," the general tells him carefully. "Master Saleh attempted to restore you, but…"

"But what? He's okay, right?" Saleh's not as frail as the other mages--but since it was _him _attacking Saleh, even if he was under a spell, it's an entirely different thing and Gerik's not sure whether to dread the answer or not.

Seth pauses, and that can't be good. "He wasn't badly injured. But he hasn't been himself, and he won't talk to anyone about what happened."

-  
It is far too quiet as he walks through the camp. People don't avoid him, but they meet his gaze briefly and then look away like he's done something particularly unsettling.

Well, it _is_ pretty rare for anyone in the unit to get hit with a berserk spell--least of all Gerik, the too-friendly mercenary leader who hardly gets more than annoyed.

"Hey, Myrrh--you seen Saleh anywhere?" He asks her, and she nods.

"He's with the healers," she responds, "But he won't let them do anything. He says he might hurt them if he loses control of his magic."

"What about anyone else?" He knows the answer, but asks it mostly for the benefit of everyone who's listening.

She shakes her head. "No. Even if he wanted to talk to someone, the healers don't advise it."

"Did _anyone_ see what I did?" He asks more loudly, but notices the weird feeling in his hands as most of them respond in the negative--they feel stiff, but not from using a sword for hours like they usually do.

L'Arachel answers, though. "While you were berserk, Master Saleh destroyed your sword to keep you from stabbing him, but unfortunately he failed to restore you in time--"

"_Obviously_," Innes remarks.

"--and when I arrived… you were trying to strangle him." Her voice shakes the slightest bit as she finishes, and her subsequent cheer is a little too forced. "Thus I was forced to hit you with my staff in order to subdue you, and I apologize most profusely for the headache you may have experienced upon wakening."

"No problem, L'Arachel," Gerik tries to smile in the ensuing silence and heads over to the healers' tent, to the troubadour's surprise.

"And where are you going?"

"I don't know--to apologize for trying to kill him, maybe?"

"You can't!" she insists, blocking his way firmly.

"I know the healers don't want anyone to stress him out, but--"

"No, Gerik, it's not just the _healers_ who want people to keep their distance!" she explains, with a strange desperation that strips her usual verbosity away. "Master Saleh thinks he's going to kill whoever so much as blinks in his direction--regardless of whether he _wants_ to--and someone of his power certainly could! He would be even more opposed to having _you_ there!"

The implications slow him down, but he still doesn't feel like giving it up. "But--"

"Once he managed to say something substantial, it was very clear that Master Saleh was experiencing battle fatigue," she adds, and that silences Gerik's protests almost instantly. "I don't know why it took until now for us to see it, but…"

"He doesn't talk about it much," Gerik tells her. "It happened before we met any of you, so you didn't even know there was something to look for. It's not your fault."

"'We,' Chief?" Tethys asks.

"Yeah." He forces a sheepish smile as Innes looks at him.

-  
Saleh flinches back into normal life a few days later. There is a not-quite faded bruise just under his jaw--it's mostly hidden by his collar, but even the sliver that Gerik can see makes him feel bad.

"Hey there, Saleh."

The sage jumps, and when he looks at Gerik there is a raw vulnerability in his eyes that Gerik hasn't seen for a while. Ewan's teacher is still there; so are the Sage of Caer Pelyn and Myrrh's guardian. But Gerik's friend who tries too hard is not--in his place is the kid he met on the battlefield, who lost control in the wrong place and came uncomfortably close to dying.


	8. you're no burden

They're stranded.

At some point during their run-in with a group of monsters in Renais, Gerik and Saleh got lost in the nearby forest. Gerik's all right--nothing that wouldn't heal on its own in a day or two--but Saleh's more than a little worse for wear.

Which means that he nearly got his arm chopped off by a maelduin. It still looks as bad as it sounds, even after Gerik helped him dump his entire vulnerary on it. He hates it when those things manage to land a hit, because it will never be just a nice, clean, painful gash; those things can break bones without even trying. The darkening roof of the trees above them doesn't make Gerik feel good. If the flying units are scouting, they might have already breezed right over them.

"We'll just have to wait it out, then." His voice echoes in the stillness. Saleh attempts to nod, then winces as something doesn't move right.

-

The night brings new and even less appealing possibilities: Saleh's got an open wound, at least a few broken bones, and they're in a damp and dusty forest. If he doesn't get an infection, all the blood he's losing might be letting predators track them right now. Or more monsters.

"See, this is why I hate letting healers get hurt. If I were in your spot, you'd have taken care of it and the most you'd need to worry about is a good night's sleep."

"…What about you?" He sounds like he's just sleepy, but there's the tell-tale shallow breathing of blood loss.

"I'd be all healed up, remember?"

"Right." It's forced out on his exhale like a cough, and Gerik hopes he just imagined the specks of red accompanying it.

"You know, I've still got a full vulnerary on me." He knows Saleh won't use it; they both know that if Gerik gets too badly hurt and they've used everything up, they're as good as dead. But he offers anyway because something isn't right--even with half his blood gone Saleh shouldn't be breathing like he's afraid to take up space, and his movements are of pain beyond limping.

Gerik's not a healer, though, and knowing what's wrong won't do anything now. "Come on, Saleh--it'll be faster if I carry you." The sage nods and winces again, and Gerik tries not to shake him up too much when he picks him up. It's late enough for the stars to have faded, but he has no choice except to keep going.

-

"_Someone's following us_," Saleh rasps into his neck, and Gerik turns his head to find a light-haired man ambling along a few feet behind them.

His spine prickles--Gerik didn't see or hear anything before Saleh said so, and now he can feel the power radiating from him. He looks like Saleh; the same gray hair, but longer and unkempt. Lights weave in and out of it, and Gerik doesn't know if they're pieces of lightning or fireflies or stars. His eyes are sand-colored, too, and that can only mean one person.

_The storm god gives no warning…_

But even though he keeps walking and pretends not to be freaked out, the storm god meanders in front of them and the recognition in Saleh's face is clear as day.

"My boy." His voice sounds like distant thunder as he smiles, and Gerik can't tell why he's getting so defensive.

"Saleh is _not_ Jehannan--"

He puts a hand on Saleh's wound, and something _jolts_ before Gerik's body seizes up. He can't help but drop Saleh with all the magic forced into his veins, but even before he does the sage gives a choking yell and clutches the spot near his wound. Through the magic, Gerik sees the storm god waver like a heat mirage.

"Wait--_wait!_ _What did you do to him?!_" His skin is burning like the dunes and now they're both out of action and _they're going to die_, they're going to die because the storm god thinks it's funny to mess with people and Saleh's still screaming like someone's hacking his arm off the rest of the way--

Somehow Gerik manages to pick him up again and run, and all the magic and screaming makes him forget to wonder why Saleh recognizes a Jehannan god.

-

They've been found.

It's been a while later; the sun is halfway over the horizon and Gerik's legs have given out from so much running. Saleh's bones have healed up, and everyone's a little shocked that his "only" problems are blood loss and a really bad gash. Gerik mentions something about vulneraries and good luck, but he's not letting go of Saleh because the storm god might come again and he won't give any more warning than he did the first time--

The healers are perplexed that he's showing the confusion of heat stroke when he was in a forest at night: Even running while carrying someone would overheat him in an entirely different and less malicious way. They chalk it up to a rough night and heal the worst of his burning skin, but the Jehannans are suspicious because Gerik's not the type to piss off his own country's main god.

"I think you are confused, Gerik," Saleh says. "You were tired, and I was injured; those conditions are hardly the best for rational thought. I, for one, mistook that man for my father--"

Oh Stones help him, the storm god was messing even deeper with his head. "He's a _god_, Saleh, there's no other way he could have gotten through both our resistance at the same time!"

"_What?_" The sudden disbelief stops Gerik as much as the actual interruption, and Saleh speaks like a mentor with a really dense student. "Gerik. That man… looked very much like my father. But he has been dead… for fifteen years."

The Jehannans nearby shoot him a glance, and suddenly everything makes sense to Gerik. Cloud-gray hair and the stars went out and _Saleh recognized him_--

-

"What Gerik is _trying_ to say," Joshua sits the two of them down in a ring of Jehannans (and interested non-Jehannans) sometime after dinner, "is that Saleh happens to look a lot like Jehanna's most powerful god."

"Aren't they immortal, though?" Eirika inquires. "Master Saleh said his father died."

"For Jehanna? Technically," Joshua ponders on what to say next, flipping a coin and watching it spin before he catches it. "They _can_ die if someone tries hard enough; they just come back after a while. It's bad when the storm god dies--the rains were erratic when I was about ten, and it was that much harder for Mother to keep everyone alive and happy. People said it was because the storm god went missing."

"I would think no rain at all would be worse," Natasha remarks, to shakes of the head from Joshua and Tethys. (They aren't letting Gerik talk yet because of the heat-stroke and all.)

"Nope, Sister--as unpredictable as they are, we need the floods. Only a flood would be enough to loosen up a desert's soil, and that's why your average Grado drizzle won't cut it," Tethys tells her. The conversation goes off on a tangent about the nuances of Jehanna, and Saleh isn't looking at the others anymore. Instead he stares into the space between Gerik and the forest, as if he can call up the storm god to make him explain things in person.

"Saleh? You listening?" The sage sighs vaguely and he hopes it's affirmative. "He wasn't… he didn't get himself killed so he could pack up and leave guilt-free. He's a god and all, but he's not _heartless_."

Saleh turns to look at him; Gerik can't read his expression, but what he says next is scathing in its very calmness. "Well, you are all _Jehannan_… So I guess you would know him better than I do."

He stands up and leaves, and his words burn like embers in the air. When they finally fade into the breeze, it's a few minutes of concerned silence before they all remember just who they've been talking about.

-

_The time that you may approach the god:  
As stars fade into the dawning air,  
Betwixt cold night and the morning._

_He will appear with nary a nod  
__And lightning laced through his cloud-grey hair--  
For the storm god gives no warning._

-

Gerik's been kept under close watch by the healers and drinking lots of water to make sure the last of his heat-stroke is gone, so it's late in the night when he finally gets cleared to fight again. He comes across Saleh at the base of a tree, with a contemplating look on his face--but there is no aura this time.

"What's the matter, mountain man? Can't sleep?"

"I was waiting…"

"For me? Aw, you didn't _have_ to." They both know that he's wrong, but he smiles anyway and sits down. Now he knows what Saleh's looking at: The sky. "He's not just a storm god, you know. We call him that because no one remembers his name."

But there _is_ one, hesitating at the tip of Saleh's tongue. Gerik waits, but he doesn't say it.

"I keep forgetting to ask you this," he laughs sheepishly. "How did you grow up?"

There's always a reason for someone to have turned into Saleh or Marisa, all pointed silences and subtle expressions. It's hard to remember that they might have been perfectly normal when they were ten-ish or so--just a little quiet.

"He loved her," Saleh says very, very quietly, in the tone that makes Gerik instinctively promise not to tell anyone. "I don't know if Mother knew, but… there was always something I couldn't place about him."

They are quiet for a long, long time--enough for the stars to vanish into the graying velvet sky. Gerik checks around them, but the storm god isn't there. He's like the yearly floods of Jehanna; everyone knows which places to avoid for the first two weeks of fall, but that doesn't mean they start right then.

"Saleh… He didn't _abandon_ you." An eastern wind blows mournfully around the campsite, ruffling Saleh's cloud-grey hair like a consoling mother. Gerik wants him to believe it, but he keeps staring into the clouds and his face is too composed to really be calm.

For once, Gerik's glad that both his parents were mortal.

-

**Notes:** I always wondered why Saleh of all people has silver hair. The Renaitians have true blue/purple-colored hair, and silver is clearly a rare color; aside from Lyon and Vigarde, Knoll is the only one even _close_ to it (very light purple). Lyon, Vigarde, and Knoll are native Grads (two of them are royalty), while our resident sage is from a secluded village in the Renais/Jehannan mountains. Those are hardly good circumstances for random silver-haired Grad nobles to meet up with Saleh's mother. So I drew off Gerik's reference in Chapter 5 about Saleh looking like "the storm god"--I figured Jehannans would hold such a deity in highest regard since they live in the desert, and there's connotations of unpredictability about a storm that you don't get with general rain.

Not to mention that Saleh starts out with a thunder tome, his affinity is _wind_, and he starts out with an A-rank in Anima, which makes him the most likely person to start using Excalibur after you get it. What has wind, rain, and thunder/lightning? A thunderstorm. Hence, he's the son of the storm god.

To be honest, I wanted to turn Saleh into a badass demi-god. But then I realized that people focus too much on how SUPER-SPESHUL-AWESOME demi-gods are. They never stop to think about how much it would SUCK to have your dad be absent for most of your life--and if he's a god, why couldn't he take a few minutes to explain why he left you and your mother, or how he's alive and kicking again without being an abomination of nature? It would suck even more for people to talk like they know him better than you, even if they don't mean any harm.

So... yeah. I like writing about the flip side of mythology.


	9. tell me everything

_-tell me everything-_

There's a village just past the Jehannan mountains that they've stopped in for a day, besieged by monsters heading from the east. They've managed to get by with staying near the village and the local temple so far, with fighters stepping in for whatever the others can't outrun. The monsters are only a trickle for now, but the bishop says that there have been attacks from stronger, faster things lately; the children are getting brought to the temple more often with dark-magic wounds and gashes, and even their best fighters are getting too injured for a single healer to help.

The twins insist that they lead the group's defense against them, since it's the least they can do for their citizens. As the unit travels through the streets, they regard the Renais royalty with the hopefulness of a downtrodden country, as if seeing their heir and princess is the first step to freedom--and it probably is. Eirika treats them with her trademark kindness, accepting compliments with a genuine smile now that she has people to see her, and Ephraim insists on paying for everyone's stay instead of taking the innkeeper's offer to stay free.

But as the Jehannan citizens catch sight of Saleh, their expressions change to something uncertainly reverent. He doesn't quite understand it--silver hair is perfectly possible, if a bit rare, so he sticks to healing until further notice from the twins.

"They know you're not a Gradite, Teacher." Ewan gets to the point as usual. "You don't act or dress like one, and Frelia's too far west for silver hair."

"Focus on healing your patient's cut, Ewan," Saleh reminds him. "Infected wounds are harder to heal than normal injuries."

"Right." He turns back to his patient, who has managed to hold her arm remarkably still considering the pain it's probably in. "Sorry I kept you waiting, Miss."

She nods absently, shifts slightly, and tucks her hair behind an ear--she has a pensive look directed at Saleh, despite having the purple hair of a Renaitian. "That's all right; it's feeling much better than last week."

"Any reason you've been staring at my teacher?" Ewan isn't joking (he's preoccupied with the healing process), but it still gets him a mild glare.

"Well, it's a little silly," she admits. "My mother was Jehannan, you know, and she used to tell stories. We get heavy rains in winter and fall--they say it's because the storm god crosses the mountains from Jehanna. We just had a storm finish before you came, and... it's just a coincidence, but silver hair isn't that common."

Inwardly, Saleh feels like sighing. Outwardly, he finishes healing a young man's broken arm. "There you go."

The boy flexes his arm experimentally--no cracking, popping, or lingering pain. He then thanks the sage for healing him and heads back to the village, scanning the area behind him in spite of himself: It's getting dark.

-

Gerik's troop and Saleh are waiting a few minutes south of the city, where the mountains start to break up the level ground. The first wave of monsters is a group of gargoyles, who are picked off by the flying units. The villagers are reluctant to close the gate, despite the twins' assurances that they have faced the Gradite army in worse circumstances--even though both twins can fight better than most people, the citizens can't help but want their prince and princess to stay safe.

Aside from gargoyles and the mauthe doogs, monsters have no battle plans; sometimes Gerik gets ambushed by ten of them at once, and sometimes they're so distracted with someone else that he can walk right up and stab them. Even so, they decide not to take chances and Ewan, Ross, and Amelia are all staying near the healers with Deussel and Garcia.

The darkening sky cues more monsters that flock over from the west. It looks like a run-of-the-mill scuffle where they'll finish in a few hours; Gerik heads out to take care of the gargoyles while Marisa deals with the maelduins heading her way, dodging their axe strokes with the ease of long, hard practice. The fight is easy... almost too easy, now that he thinks of it.

They've got all the important spots covered, but another wave of monsters catches them off-guard. Despite the unit's best efforts, a lot of the remnants manage to slip past them--and their target is the open, defenseless village.

The pegasus knights fly to the slowly-closing gates, three spots of white surrounded by bat-winged figures and bloodshot eyes. The other mounted units follow them at a gallop and pick off the ones at the fringes with javelins.

"They won't make it in time," Saleh tells him. He scans the area for a moment, and his gaze rests on the haggard base of the mountain. There is a sharp and calculating look in his eyes, like when he's trying to find the best way to climb something.

"What's in that head of yours?" Gerik tries to focus on him, but a wight tries to spear him and when he's finished smashing it to bits, Saleh is heading across the field. "Saleh, _don't do anything stupid_--"

But even as he dodges a stray javelin and heads after him, Saleh has already started climbing. The growing wind turns his hair to glinting feathers, and in the minute or two that Gerik takes to reach the base of the mountain, the sage has already gained fifteen feet and uses the steep mountain face as cover from the airborne monsters.

He only goes up from there.

The clouds darken, racing to each other while Saleh becomes a faded-green figure amidst the rocks. The temperature drops from the growing wind, and Gerik can see his breath misting now. That scares him a little--thunder tomes have never affected the actual _weather_ before. He reaches about halfway across the field, but when he looks at the base again, he gets second thoughts and keeps his distance. He may weigh more than the sage, which would help with not getting blown off, but he's not as good at climbing and he doesn't want to risk slipping and breaking his neck.

The wind shoves icy knives in every inch of his skin as the clouds darken to murky silver. Monsters flock to Saleh like hungry wolves, aiming shadows amidst the storm-magic until Gerik can feel it all pressing on his bones--

The thunder is too impossibly loud to be a mage's counterfeit and the shockwave knocks Gerik off his feet. Bones and blood rain down with the water, but he can't hear what it sounds like because of the sudden, unbearable ringing in his head. He struggles to stand back up, heart pounding crazily; since his vision is the only sense unaffected, all he does is watch while everyone else gets themselves to the healers. Even the people with good resistance haven't expected the sheer _noise_, so it's a good thing all the monsters have been killed already.

Breathe in... breathe out.

Breathe in... breathe out.

Breathe in breathe out, breathe-in-breathe-out, breatheinbreatheout _breatheinbreatheout_--

Gerik shoves himself to a half-sitting position so he can breathe easier. Another glance around: The healers are sweeping the field, and he turns back to the mountain just in time to see a green figure stagger to the side of his ledge, miss a step, and plummet down the side of the cliff.

He can't remember when he starts running, but he's made it across the field and heaving himself across the rocky ground. His arms stretch out in spite of himself and his legs keep moving through adrenalin. _"Saleh!"_

The force of their collision feels like a punch in the ribs, and it makes him stagger backwards. He barely manages to keep his balance, turning around instinctively before his shaky legs give up anyway and Saleh spills onto the dirt. He nearly collapses on the sage, but years of training let him hold up most of his own weight even if his heart's going too fast for his breathing to keep up.

Maybe it wasn't a good idea to just run over and catch him before telling someone first, because neither of them are in good shape and he doesn't think his legs can carry him anymore.

Saleh's eyes have turned the slick, dark gray of the drenched mountains. He isn't breathing as hard, but his skin is so warm that even their rain-soaked clothes can't stop it. They try to focus on each other, crazed hearts beating in synch--and then Saleh reaches up to his face. It's shaking and wet, so he pushes it back down pretty easily, but he ends up knocking Saleh's headband into the dirt.

His heart's pounding in a different way now.

-

They get dragged back to the village by Forde and Kyle, and it'll take a few days for the unit to recuperate from the aftermath of Saleh's storm. They couldn't head out any sooner even without recovery time; everyone but the flying units would be ankle-deep in mud.

It's a little distracting to look at Saleh right now without his headband. Getting it back (or even just picking it up from the ground) was a little lower in priority than making sure nobody died of heart failure, so his hair keeps falling into his eyes and forcing him to run a hand through it. He's obviously not used to it, either, because he does it every few seconds.

Once he gets cleared to walk, typically, he offers to help restock supplies. They get the money from the twins and everything's bought and taken to the convoy in about half an hour, so that leaves them with nothing to do until they head out again.

Saleh comes up to him around noon. "Gerik, you haven't seen my headband anywhere, have you?"

"Can't say I have. Sorry for making you lose it, though."

"No, that's all right. I'll have a new one made when I return to Caer Pelyn." Normal voice, normal eyes--but he never thought Saleh of all people would have messy hair. It looks like he's just woken up.

"You need anything else, Saleh?"

As carefully as he shakes his head, it still sends cloud-gray strands into his eyes. "Thank you anyway, Gerik."

Tethys arrives while he's leaving, gazing at the sage's back with interest. "Who'd have thought _Saleh_ had never-ending bed hair?"

A shrug.

"Or that he could pull it off?"

"What're you implying?" He pretends to glare down at her, and she answers without missing a beat.

"Nothing, Chief. It's hard to believe, but I have to _work_ to look good." She gives him a wave, but remembers something. "Didn't you find his headband this morning?"

He shrugs again and grins. "It can wait a day or two."

-

Gerik gets a hold of him around mid-evening. "Found your headband yesterday." It hangs in his hand, undamaged and generally clean.

"Really? Thank you." He reaches for it before stopping to talk again. "Also--about that last skirmish..."

Oh, boy.

"I... don't think I was thinking very clearly," Saleh admits.

"Well, neither was I."

An almost-laugh. "Anyway, I think I was trying to heal you when I reached over. I'm glad you stopped me, really... It wouldn't have done anything."

He looks more closely at the other; there's less light to go by, and it makes his eyes look darker than desert nights. "I dunno, Saleh--you did _something_."

"Hmm?"

He closes his fingers over the woven leather, earning a confused look before he stretches it out. Then he places it on the sage's head, adjusting it till it sits mostly right.

Saleh, to his credit, keeps very carefully still. He doesn't step back or jerk to attention, doesn't even take in a breath to let Gerik know if he's startled or not--but he's not looking up at him, either. His hair slides through Gerik's hands so _easily_; no wonder it's always messy without something to keep it in place.

"There you go."

"Thank you." Whether he's relieved to have it back or just because Gerik's done messing with his hair is hard to tell, so Gerik smiles.

"Anything happen just now?"

"I... maybe." And Saleh slips away like the end of a storm, leaving Gerik alone with his thoughts.

He's still smiling, though.

-

**Notes:** Added a couple of things to make it flow better. Despite caving into my yaoi-fangirl side, I didn't want the "guess what I'm alluding to" scene to sound gratuitous or forced. I spent a LOT of time revising everything, and then the holidays came and I got too busy to finish it till now. On the other hand, I had way too much fun writing that last part. Happy new year!


	10. i'm telling you now

The going is still messy and wet, even if it isn't miserably cold anymore. The Jehannans are used to shifting ground-the trick is to never stay still, or else you'll sink or trip or get stabbed. Saleh has his own version: He can step lighter than some of the girls from his years of living in the mountains. You'd think living on huge rocks would be easy, at least with moving around, but sand has to come from somewhere.

Gerik finishes cleaning his weapons for the day, and he's about halfway back to his tent when he hears Saleh talking with (of all people) Neimi.

"-with a bow when I was younger," he finishes. "I came into magic rather late; most show signs at ten or twelve, but I was nearly fifteen."

"Really? It must have been..."

This explains why the sage is such a dead-eye shot-even when Gerik first met him, Saleh could hit nine out of ten times. Lute is already matching him in power, but she's still missing about a third of her shots (which she's always quick to mention in regards to how much she improved from the _last_ battle, until she gets distracted by some random plant or insect and Gerik can finally leave).

"-couple of times?"

"No..." His voice has the edge of a politely forced smile. "It's been years since I last held a bow."

"Well, you never forget something like archery." Gerik sees Neimi smile encouragingly as she hands over her unstrung bow and quiver. "Let's see... Try to hit that ash branch over there."

Neimi points in the typical archer's manner-looking first, then swinging her arm out and holding it perfectly in line with her shoulder. It's so fluid that most people can't tell it from normal people, but Innes points that way, too.

Saleh takes a look as well, closing his right eye and focusing for a moment. Then he loops the string onto the bottom end, braces the bow against his legs, and carefully bends the bow until he can loop the other end around the top.

"Huh. I didn't know you were left-handed," Neimi remarks when he's done, which surprises Gerik because the bow is in Saleh's right hand. Unless she's suddenly forgotten the concept of right and left, a left-handed archer probably doesn't mean what Gerik thinks.

Speaking of suddenly, _he's_ remembered that he's in the vicinity of the target. So he barges out noisily on purpose-never, _ever_ startle someone with a strung bow in their hand-then gives the two of them a grin. "Hey there!"

"Hello, Gerik!" Neimi waves.

Gerik pretends to just notice Saleh holding the bow and raises a brow. "Don't tell me we're running out of tomes?"

"Oh, don't worry," she assures him, as well as the small crowd forming behind her and Saleh. "Saleh used to be an archer, and I wanted to see how good of a shot he is."

"Well..." He casts around for the rest of his sentence. Saleh has to be a decent shot at least, but he can't help feeling the habitual nervousness that comes with being between an archer and his target. Nobody likes a two-inch piece of metal stuck somewhere, and archers are trained to aim for vital areas. "Let me get out of the way first."

He joins the other ten or so people and waits.

"My gear won't fit you, but did you use a shooting tab?"

"No," Saleh shakes his head. "Only the snipers had enough for archers' gear, and the rest of us just made do."

The statement is brief, informative, and very suspicious-the scars on Saleh's wrists are old enough to match up, but they're pretty clearly from a knife even if they're where a bowstring would have hit.

Neimi winces. "Didn't that _hurt_?"

"For the first few months, yes, but Grandmother healed the worst of the cuts." He takes an arrow from the quiver, nocks it, and exhales. On his inhale he raises the bow, draws it, and aims in one fluid motion, closing his right eye again to aim. Three seconds later, right between his exhale and the arrow's flight, Gerik thinks he sees a blue thread flashing to connect target and weapon.

The arrow nearly splits the branch, but doesn't quite go through despite all the violent swinging. Saleh heads over to it, almost unaware of the spatters of applause while he grabs the branch and carefully works the arrow out of its landing spot.

"Master Saleh." Innes strides over. "I cannot believe you were a mere hunter."

"Whyever not, Sir?" Vanessa asks.

"It's preposterous for a hunter to go without some sort of protection," Innes informs them, "even with scarce resources. Hunters need their hands for more than shooting."

Saleh sighs. "Caer Pelyn snipers train from childhood, like most archers; but they do not use protective gear, for it would signify a necessity for weapons rather than desire to master the bow. Every cut that marrs their skin is a reminder that they have not yet succeeded. When they have tamed the bow at last, and are freed from their bodily injuries, they are given an Orion's Bolt and their first true target."

Saleh's never been bad with words, but there's something different about his voice now: Everything is so perfectly fluid that he has to have memorized the speech, either himself or from someone else telling him every day for years.

Neimi's bow is a war-bow-it's taken down deer, enemy horses, and maelduin in one or two shots. But when Saleh inspects his arm, it only bears the faintest of reddened skin. He unstrings the bow, returns the arrow to the quiver, and hands everything back to Neimi. "I trained for five years before I became a mage."

And then he leaves.

* * *

"Any other talents you've got hidden away, Saleh?" Gerik asks when they're among the last to get to bed and the fires are dying down. He's trying to be casual about it, but he has a feeling that he already knows the answer.

"No." A sheepish chuckle. "With my magic turning up so late... I was terribly behind the other mages."

"You? _Lagging?_"

"Not in progress," Saleh clarifies. "In preparation. It only takes a few years to learn magic; sooner if we're pressed for time, like Ewan. But magical combat is far different from normal combat... Especially from the training of a sniper."

Gerik listens to him when he changes the subject. How they started by shooting at targets for two years, then smaller targets for another year, then moving ones. How they were sent out from thirteen to sixteen with six arrows for the first three months, then four, then two, and then a single arrow for the last three months and a full year. How every shot counted once it left the bow whether it hit the target, or the _right_ target, or missed completely... And how he'd had to give it all up just before his sixth year.

* * *

_He tries to stifle the spurt of flame, but it grows and soon Gerik can't see in the white blaze. The heat knocks Gerik over while someone screams-and when he shakes off the painful green haze, a charred skeleton swims into his vision._

_

* * *

_

Saleh is checking his arms when he finishes, and Gerik finally decides to ask. "So, what does Caer Pelyn use in their bowstrings-_wire_?"

"Linen, cotton... the usual." He rubs at his wristbands like he's trying to erase the underlying cuts from his skin. "It took me a while to tell Grandmother."

It's not rare for people to learn another weapon, except for the myrmidons devoted to their blades. He's learned to use axes in a matter of weeks-but he never had to give up swords. "Why?"

"I was... _angry._" Saleh smiles, not sincerely, and it cuts into Gerik's skin like a forlorn desert wind. "I was seventeen and angry, and I didn't want anyone pitying me or forcing me to talk about it. Why else would young people not talk about things?"

Gerik is surprised when he laughs, but it doesn't seem like a bad thing since Saleh's smile turns more genuine. "_Did_ she make you talk?"

"No." Saleh has a relieved sort of gratefulness. "What was there that she didn't know? I'd lost my parents and wasted years on a useless talent."

Gerik knows he's digging himself deeper, but he keeps going because things are starting to click into place in the back of his head-_every cut that marrs their skin..._ "Why _you_, of all people?"

His jaw tightens, then relaxes. "It was hard to let go of five years. And I was young, and irrational."

Gerik frowns and grabs Saleh's wrist when he starts up the chafing again. "Stop doing that, Saleh. You're gonna..."

He eyes his restrained hand in confusion. "Going to what? They're scars."

Gerik hasn't figured out what that last part would have been. But that mask Saleh's been hiding under is coming off now, really coming off instead of just slipping, and for some reason... he doesn't _like_ it. He forces a laugh. "Sorry. Reminds me of someone with sunburn, trying to peel the skin away too early."

Saleh's eyes take on the gold of the blistering Jehannan sun. "Gerik, I don't need _rescuing_ anymore."

For all the looming hurricanes in Saleh's voice, there's a drawn-bow tenseness in his shoulders that Gerik can feel all the way down to the wrist he's holding. He feels like he's an archer's target again, trying not to get shot-only this time he's walking the line between making Saleh mad, or pretending to believe him when he says he doesn't need rescuing.

He takes a breath, and he doesn't let go.

* * *

**Notes:** Terribly sorry for the wait. Also, I don't advise anyone trying to shoot a bow without protection because it _hurts like crazy_. This was artistic license, and it should stay that way. I do NOT want to be the reason for someone permanently damaging something because they took a fictional concept seriously.

This chapter took a while to get right. I didn't want Saleh to be the stereotypical (former) cutter who's emo and wants a hug, because self-mutilation doesn't work that way. Worse was that I was never satisfied with the last sentence-that is, until I took a break and listened to The Killers' "When You Were Young." The music makes you want to dance like an idiot, but then the lyrics come in and you start getting nostalgic in a bad way, so you end up feeling restless and uncomfortable. I tried to put in that feeling during Gerik's talk with Saleh.


End file.
